Wandering Children
by Joni Smith
Summary: Christiana is a free-spirited seventeen year-old girl with a fighting streak. She's as fiery as the red hair on her head. A preformance she views at the esteemed Opera Populaire will change the one thing she wants to control so badly: her destiny. Wrapped up in her own adventure of mystery, love, intrigue, and a mysterious masked figure who will forever change her...


_**Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any of the songs in this story. The only thing I do own is Christiana one of my OCs. Enjoy!**_

The streets of Paris shone in the early morning sun. The city was already bustling with the early morning buyers, gossipers, peddlers, and happy couples.

The gorgeous Opera Populaire shone high above the city with its golden spires and marble stairways. Most of the gossip came from the women who said that the famed Opera, _Hannibal_, would be returning to the Populaire for two nights only and everyone who's anyone would be going. Another rumor circulated that there was to be a marvelous masquerade before the performance. All of the fine ladies were out buying new dresses and fineries for the grand occasion. It would be a night to remember.

Far across town in the poorer part of the City of Lights, a young girl carefully made her purchases at the local market and began the slow trudge home. Her dress was a plain brown with little white trim and a plaid, gray shawl tucked around her shoulders against the early morning chill. Her fiery red hair fell untamed down her back and, although she had little, she walked with a spring in her step and a smile on her face. Christiana Louise Michaels was walking home from a day at the market on her seventeenth birthday and wondered what would await her when she finally arrived.

She was close to her father's modest carpentry shop when the neighborhood bully, Laurence, popped out from around the corner with his little posse; his scraggly black hair and oily black eyes oozing mischief. All the boys wore homespun shirts and breeches with no shoes. _What could they possibly want? _Chris thought. All she wanted was to get home and see her family.

"What'cha got there, Chrissy?" Laurence drawled. He blocked her path and peered obnoxiously into her basket.

"Hey, look!" Antoine snatched the juicy green apple from Christiana's basket. "Mmmm...I'll let you off the hook if you give me this Miss Chris."

Christiana scowled and snatched the apple right out of Antoine's grubby hand. "Get your paws off my family's food," she growled. She didn't have the patience for their antics today.

Laurence had other ideas. He grabbed her wrist and dragged her to him. "I heard it's your birthday today, pretty girl." Chris tried to pull away, but he held fast, his breath hot and disgusting in her ear. "So I think I'll give you a present."

Chris' eyes shot open just in time to see his face inches from her own. Winding up, just like her brothers taught her, she slugged Laurence square in the jaw wrenched herself from his grasp. It was on now and she knew it. Laurence would never leave the scene if he was under the impression that a girl had beaten him. Setting her basket down Christiana cracked her neck back and forth a few times, and then stretched her muscles which were itching for a fight. Laurence was getting up off the ground, blood trickling from a cut on his cheek.

"Bring it on Michaels," he snarled. "Show me what you got."

Christiana was more than happy to oblige.

She began to circle him. He was tall and scrawny and if she didn't know a thing or two she would have considered him easy to take down. But the last time she tried that she'd ended up with a broken nose. Her brother, Hadrian, taught her, "Just because someone is small doesn't mean they are easy to take down. Often, the hardest people to take down look like they're weak."

Check. Laurence was small, but he knew how to fight just as well as Christiana did. But Laurence did have a weakness. Alexander told her, "Every fighter has a weakness. You have to exploit it in any way you can. Once you do, taking them down is as easy as 1, 2, 3."

Laurence always tried to put on a show for his buddies and he didn't know when to quit. The roar of the crow kept him going even if the cheers weren't for him. He wouldn't give until they were his and he had all the glory. Chris sensed this fight would be one of her more tiring fights but she couldn't back down now. Her pride was keeping her here. "Come on, Miss Priss!" Laurence yelled. "Quit stallin'! I want to show what a real man can do."

Chris just smirked. Oh, she had been waiting for this. Everyone in the neighborhood hated Laurence; he was a thief and a liar who didn't care if he had it coming to him. Now she could put him in his place. The victory would be even sweeter because she was a girl.

Laurence got tired of her waiting there, ten feet from him, smirking away, and charged. He hooked his elbow out so if she tried to side-step he could hook he head and drag her down. But her brothers had warned her of this. The trick was to slide under their arm and use their momentum against them. Christiana dropped to the ground and then pushed Laurence's shin back. He gave a girly yelp before flying face first into a mud puddle-or perhaps is was a different sort of puddle.

The boys laughed. Christiana giggled too. She'd never tried to take Laurence on before because she hadn't been as big as him. A growth spurt last year had allowed her to be a little more confident about facing someone a little bit bigger than her. "Never, ever, _ever_ take on an opponent who's twice as big as you." Philippe told her. "More often than not you'll overestimate your own abilities and they will use your overconfidence to their advantage. In short, you'll find your face in the mud fairly quickly."

Two years ago Christiana had only been half Laurence's size; now she was almost as big as him and just as strong. Late growth spurts in her late teens now attributed to her height of 5'2 ½" compared to Laurence's 5'4". She was close enough in height that it would be a safe bet to fight him.

"Come on Laurel!" Antoine called. "You're being such a wuss, letting a girl get the best of you like that!"

"I'm not a wuss," he whined, cleaning his face of the brown substance that clung to his coal black hair. "I let her do that."

"Sure you did _Laurel._" Christiana laughed, using his more feminine nickname as a taunt. "Get up so I can do it again."

Laurence scowled and growled deep in his throat and then pulled himself up the rest of the way. Christiana hoped he would make this a little bit more difficult for her. But it seemed that Laurence still considered her and inferior opponent and used only the most basic moves on her. He swiped but all he saw was a flash of her kaleidoscope hazel eyes and he was suddenly on his back. Multiple times he attempted to push her legs out from under her but a quick glance of golden-red hair was all he saw before he felt her ankle between his shoulder blades.

Christiana was enjoying herself. Even though the fight wasn't exactly as challenging or stimulating it did give her satisfaction to see Laurence's face as his fighting motions were easily deflected by his quick opponent.

Finally, after a good eight minutes of Laurence getting his face smashed into any soft substance that happened to be on the ground, Christiana asked snidely, "Do you give?"

Grudgingly Laurence responded, "Fine! Fine! I give."

With a self-satisfied smirk Christiana let him up from the pin she had him in on the ground. She simply got up and brushed off her hands. She wasn't even dirty. Laurence, however, was at the completely opposite end of the spectrum. His clothes were now brown all over and his black eyes seeped anger. Every part of his body was black, blue, or bleeding. Christiana simply walked over to the edge of their makeshift ring and gathered her materials from the market. Antoine, Francis, and Raphael came over and helped Laurence get up. Turning around with a sparkle in her ever-changing hazel eyes Christiana put her hands on her hips and hollered for the street to hear. "Let the whole of Paris know that today a mere girl bested the self-proclaimed champion! Let the world hear that Christiana Louise Michaels bested Laurence Cavalier in a simple boxing match! Scream it from the rooftops far and wide! Let every ghost and phantom hear what I say! I bested a boy in fighting; me, a mere girl, bested the so-called superior male in fighting!"

Laurence scowled and walked off in a huff of humiliation. Christiana spun around some more and proclaimed her declarations for the world to know. As she finished and pranced off toward home she did not see the man, the only true phantom who had her cry of victory, in the shadows of the alley, who had watched the whole fight.

He was tall and dressed completely in black, save the stark, white mask on his face. On the inside of his cloak of night lay his most deadly weapon. He was not one to be trifled with, but one to be feared. Silent as the dead and precisely deadly, the Phantom of the Opera watched the girl with fire for hair as she flocked toward her home. _The spirit of a fighter_, he thought with respect. _Perhaps a different kind of training is in store..._

Christiana walked down the two blocks she had left to get to her home. It was nothing impressive. Just a small carpentry workshop and storefront with a two bedroom apartment built over it. But she counted herself lucky; some of her friends live in over-charged tenements.

Her father wasn't in the storefront or the workshop and today he wasn't going to be out cutting a tree for more wood. "Mum!" Chris called as she hurried up the steps. "Sorry I'm late! Where's Da? Mum?"

She reached the apartment but not a soul answered her call. Not even her brothers were there. This was freaky. Someone was usually home. Not a soul in the kitchen or bedrooms. Checking the closet in the room she shared with her brothers as a last resort she found only one thing: a beautiful gown.

It was clearly something that was made for her. The whole gown was yellow, accentuated with orange beading in a multitude of shapes. It was sleeveless and fell to the floor in waves of sparkling beading. The yellow slippers were dainty and felt as though they were made of silk. They had the same beading as the dress. The whole ensemble was completed with gloves and pins for her hair. Pinned to the front of the dress was a note that simply read, "Your carriage is waiting outside. You'll be met outside your destination," and nothing else.

As perplexed as Christiana was she didn't argue with what the note told her; she simply slipped the beautiful dress over her head and picked up the pins and gloves before slipping down the stairs and out the front door. Just as the note had predicted a coach stood waiting for her and the young driver helped the still-confused Chris into the soft purple chair. A quick click of "Giddy-up!" and the coach set off into the chilly March air.

As the road bumped along beneath her Christiana wondered what on earth she would need this wonderful dress for and where on earth she would possibly be wearing it. He long ginger hair stirred in the slight breeze and she wished she had remembered her coat in her rush from the house.

She peered out of her window and beheld the streets of Paris. The lights were everywhere, as were the people. Ladies dressed in furs, jewels, and dresses of every color swirled in a kaleidoscope like mass around her. The men sat outside the fine cafés and sipped on wine, discussing the politics of the hour and what not. The ladies stood outside the milliner's shops and debated about what the style of the day was truly or what was completely radical. Christiana saw and smelled so many new things as she passed through the very first street of Paris.

The driver took her to an ally on the side of the gleaming, golden, magnificent Opera Populaire. "Out you get, miss," the driver said while opening the side door and offering his hand out to the astonished girl.

Chris barely registered the chilly night air in her surprise and curiosity. Who could possibly have arranged this and why? Not that she was objecting, though. This was the best birthday she'd ever had. Was that what this was? A birthday present?

_Then bring on the rest of the night. _Christiana thought, a smile plastered on her face. _I'm up for anything at this point._

The driver left her side of a moment to knock on the door that he had brought her to. A woman of about forty stepped out. She was dressed all in black and stood stern and tall; Chris could see she was not one to be trifled with but she was a caring woman. "Ah, hello." Her voice was alto toned and exerted authority. "You must be Miss Michaels. I'm Madame Giry. Your chaperones for this evening are here already but we must make you presentable first."

Quickly Chris was ushered into the building, to a hall behind the stage. Madame Giry led her through the backstage and to a lush dressing room decorated with angels and posh furniture. It must have been the prima donna's dressing room at one time. Chris didn't have any time to admire it because she was hustled over to a small white vanity and pushed, for lack of a better word, onto the stool.

...

...

Almost two hours later, Christiana wondered how all of her hair was still sitting on top of her head. Madame Giry must have pulled her head in every direction that was humanly possible. Her usually untamed, red hair had been tamed. It was done up in an elegant braid with the pins scattered about the design with yellow ribbons woven into the mix. She felt beautiful and not at all like herself. Usually she just wore a dress and shawl with worn shoes, untamed hair blowing in the wind. She looked like a fairy-tale princess.

The dress fell to her ankles in folds. Her eyes became gold with the yellow hues the dress threw off. Millions of orange beads sparkled like topaz that matched her shining red hair. Chris's skin glowed and shimmered with the powder that had been sprinkled all over her body. Eyes sparkling with astonishment at her changed appearance, Christiana was a ray of sunshine straight from the sky.

"You look lovely." Madame Giry appraised. "Your chaperones are waiting to greet you. Oh, I almost forgot."

Madame pinned a wonderful tiger lily in her hair and then shooed her out the door.

Erik watched from on high in the rafters of the opera house. _Christiana._ So much like Christine. But more unique, different. Perhaps she would be made to sing at the masquerade tonight. He hoped not though. His sole goal at the moment was to train her how to fight. If she sang, his resolve for fight training would be broken and he would be wrapped into another situation. One he wouldn't be able to handle again. So he just watched the ray of sunlight disappear into the darkness of the theatre, leaving a faint glow in her wake.

_We shall see..._

_***Hides in emo corner* Let the abuse begin! I know I didn't update and then I took it down and then took forever in getting it back up. So bring on the torture! On Christmas break so I will try to do as many updates as possible. **_

_**Pasta and love to all!**_


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